


The Ring

by isadora



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadora/pseuds/isadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A domestic one-shot that's been playing on my mind for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carrie is engrossed in the sudoku when Quinn yells her name from the other room, muttering numbers under her breath and scanning the lines.

“I’ve got a 5 there and a 5 there, and that row won’t match the 9 unless...”

“Carrie!”

He comes into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe.

“Carrie, I need a safety pin, do we have any?”

“Four, four, four, yes! That’s my line.”

He sighs 

“Carrie?”

She looks up, jumping at the sight of him.

“Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been calling you for the last five minutes”

She looks from him to the sudoku and back again and he grins, moving to the table and wrapping his arms around her shoulders and peppering her neck with kisses.

“Go back to your puzzle” he says, knowing full well he’s broken her concentration now, “I’ll find the safety pins.”

Carrie hides a fond smile as she goes back to the sudoku. She loves the repetitive nature, seeing patterns in the numbers. It keeps her grounded on bad days and gives her routine. She knows it drives Quinn crazy when she’s distracted and ignores him, but it’s only for a quarter of an hour (twenty minutes when it’s the super-fiendish day)

She finishes and pushes her chair back, tips the dregs of her tea down the sink and starts to run the water for washing up the breakfast things. Over the sound of the running water she doesn’t hear Quinn’s steps on the stairs until he clears his throat from the doorway. She turns with a smile that dies on her lips when she sees what he has in his palm.

“Say, Carrie” he says, voice deceptively calm, “why exactly do you keep a fucking engagement ring in your desk drawer?”

****

They sit opposite sides of the kitchen table, the fake ring sat between them accusingly.

“There’s a really good explanation for this” Carrie tries; avoiding Quinn’s glare.

“Well, please, go on” he says sarcastically, sweeping his hand towards her, “Enlighten me.”

She opens her mouth, closes it again, swallows.

“I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“You think?!”

Her shoulders tense and she meets his gaze angrily.

“I don’t like your tone”

“I don’t like you having an engagement ring hidden in a drawer!”

She sighs and scrubs her hands through her hair.

“I used to use it to go out and pick up men, okay?”

His anger subsides into relief and then confusion.

“What?”

Carrie blinks, not expecting that reaction.

“Men are drawn towards what they can’t have. So, when I’ve been....not feeling great, in the past, I’ve gone out to bars on my own, with the ring on, and...yeah.”

He blinks

“What?”

“Quinn, you’re not going like me explaining it any more graphically, I promise you.”

He huffs a laugh and leans back, tension draining out of his shoulders.

“I thought it was something else.”

Now it’s Carrie’s turn to be confused; her brow furrows and she leans forward.

“What?”

His eyes slide to the side and he smiles ruefully.

“I don’t want to say.”

She scowls at him.

“Tough.”

“I assumed it meant that you’d been engaged before” he says quietly, picking at a spot on the table with the corner of his nail. “I didn’t like the idea that you would have agreed to spend the rest of your life with someone.”

She pauses, considers that. There hasn’t really been anyone, that she can think of. Relationships have been fleeting and insignificant, usually ending in trauma; even Brody, who she really did love in some way, had never been a forever thing. She wonders if that’s even what she wants from life; wonders if it’s what Quinn wants.

“I’ve never been close to it” she says with a crooked smile, suddenly wanting to divert the question, “You know what I’ve been like.”

It’s an innocuous comment but gives him pause for thought. What she’s been like. What she has been like in the past, but maybe not now.

She didn’t say ‘you know what I’m like’.

“I know” he says, his tone belying the myriad of thoughts rushing through his head. “I shouldn’t have blown up about it.”

Carrie gets up to start the abandoned washing up, squeezing his shoulder.

“I like it when you get jealous” she teases, and is elsewhere within minutes, humming along with the radio and clattering dishes.

Peter stares at the ring, still sat on the table. Platinum band, ostentatious (fake) diamond, just sized for her tiny fingers. It glints in the sunlight at him, reflecting a rainbow onto the water glasses.

He reaches out, runs his finger around the smooth band, well worn now from being slid on and off her finger. Thinks about the time when that used to be her life; a different man every night, and god knows she wouldn’t have had trouble even without the ring. But she’d been specifically going out to find men who cheated, men who were less stable, men she wouldn’t have to learn to rely on.

He would have been one of those men once, he thinks. It’s not like a ring had ever stopped him from going after something he wanted, and he has wanted her from the moment he laid eyes on her. He wonders if they had met in a different universe, if they would have shared the same connection all those years ago, or whether it would have been a quick fuck and never seen each other again. He wonders what she would be like, on a one night stand; whether she would be selfish and take what she wanted, assertive or submissive.

They’re such different people now, he thinks. They’ve become stable, they’ve got normal jobs, they’re raising her daughter as a family. All these things that would have terrified him before make him so happy now he doesn’t know how he survived the bad times. He loves her; loves her in a way and with an intensity that he’s never experienced before, and even through his insecurities he knows that she feels the same, although they’re not the type to talk about it.

He turns the ring over in his fingers, rubbing a thumb over the stone, and feels something crystalise inside him, a calm determination.

He puts the ring into his pocked and smiles.

Oh yes, he has plans.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re sat around the table one Saturday morning, looking for all the world like a domesticated, normal family. Carrie is wearing a bathrobe, hair still wet from the shower, reading through a briefing memo and Quinn has Frannie sat on his lap as he feeds her oatmeal with only limited success.

“You do realise you’re wearing more of her breakfast than she’s eaten, right?” comments Carrie, without even really needing to look up, and Quinn grins salaciously.

“Would you like to come and help me wash it off?”

She considers it for a second and grimaces.

“I really need to get this done.”

“I’ll only be five minutes” he cajoles, shifting Frannie into her high chair as Carrie snorts.

“I have never had a shower with you that’s lasted less than half an hour” she says, “And you know it.”

She doesn’t need to look up from the papers to see the smug expression on his face but she does anyway, and can’t help but grin at him.

“You’re incorrigible” she grumbles halfheartedly, batting him away as he walks around the table, leans over her chair and presses open mouthed kisses to her neck, teeth grazing fractionally over her clavicle in a way he knows full well gets her pulse racing.

She turns to face him, arches her back so she can kiss him thoroughly until they’re both slightly breathless, pupils blown, and she pulls away with a groan.

“I can’t, Quinn, we can’t leave Frannie on her own.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and when Carrie opens the door Maggie is standing there, looking cheerful.

“I’m taking my kids to the pool and thought I’d see if Frannie wants to come” she says brightly, “and you and Peter, if you like, but I thought maybe you could use some down time.”

Carrie blinks, and allows a smile to spread over her face.

“That would be really nice, Maggie, thanks. Let me go get her stuff.”

Peter is leaning against the doorframe as she comes back in; he tilts his head quizzically.

“Maggie’s on her way to the pool and wants take Frannie” she says, trying not to sound as enthusiastic as she feels, “You’re more than welcome to go with them if you like.”

Quinn has clearly had the same thought as her; he grins slow and sharp and pulls her flush against him, letting her feel exactly what he’d rather be doing than swimming. She bats helpless at his arm, sinking into him in the same movement.

“The quicker I get Frannie’s stuff together the quicker I’m in the shower with you” she reminds him, and he drops her like a hot potato, making her grin.

“I’ll go warm the water” he says, waggling his eyebrows, and she laughs as she grabs a bag and starts putting Frannie’s swimming costume and towel in.

If Maggie suspects the reason behind Carrie’s unusually speedy preparation and Quinn’s conspicuous absence she doesn’t say anything, hefting Frannie into her arms and heading off down the driveway, cooing and chuckling at the little girl. Carrie stays by the door to wave them off and then heads upstairs with haste, hearing the sound of the shower.

She shucks her bathrobe off at the door and takes a moment to admire her...well, whatever the word...partner, boyfriend, lover...she doesn’t know how to define him.  
He’s facing away from her, all lean lines and bunched muscles, a thoroughbred of a man. There isn’t a moment in the day that she doesn’t want to be with him, touching him, talking to him. She’s never had anything like this, really; it’s alien but oddly comforting.

She steps inside the shower, closing the door behind her, and wraps her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her lips to his shoulder. He’s brought out an oddly affectionate side in her; the moves that she had learnt painstakingly from watching other people and situations to seduce marks have become natural and right to her and it feels good to her in a way it never has before. He leans back into her embrace, relaxed, and she trails her hand down his front, fingertips skating over the ripples of his torso, the ridge of a bullet scar, the point of his hip.

“Turn around” she murmurs, her voice almost lost under the hiss of the shower, and he complies.

He’s fucking beautiful like that, water droplets hanging off his eyelashes, dark eyes fixed on her as though he could eat her alive, and suddenly she can’t resist dropping to her knees in front of him. His cock twitches just at the implication; she’s never gone down on him before, not for any reason that she can think of, but now seems like a reasonable time to start. She runs a hand down his thigh, not sure if her aim is to tempt or to sooth; every muscle is taut against her finger tips, as though he’s clinging onto the last vestiges of control. 

When she wraps her lips around the head of his cock he swears softly, a litany of curses under his breath, one hand tangling in her hair.

“Fuck, Carrie” he groans, and she takes it as encouragement to swallow him to the root, humming gently at the back of her throat and feeling him twitch inside her mouth. The water is warm and soothing on her scalp as she slides her lips back, running her tongue down the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Quinn slides a hand behind her head, fingers threading through her hair; on anyone else it would be an uncomfortable power play but she just feels safe with him, sees it as the gesture of intimacy that he intends it as.

His breath shutters and hitches above her; she thinks that she should have done this a long time before. She loves seeing him come apart in front of her; it hasn’t happened before, usually because he’s so focussed on her that he doesn’t come until she’s in a boneless, brainless haze. It feels good to give him this, good to be so in control of the situation for ones. It feels good to be tearing his self control to shreds as well; he’s always so measured, so methodical, and now he’s unable to stop himself groaning, his hands clenching spasmodically in her hair in a way that might be painful if it wasn’t such a turn on.

“Carrie” he breathes warningly, and tries to pull back, but she braces her hands on his hips and sucks a little harder, hollowing her cheeks as she flicks her eyes up to meet his and with a strangled moan she feels him tense hard and then relax as his orgasm flows through him. She relaxes her jaw, swallows his seed and applies just enough pressure to his over-sensitised cock to prolong his orgasm until his knees buckle and he slides down the shower wall, folding her into his arms. She allows herself to shift off her knees and into a cross-legged position on the floor of the shower, his chest warm against her cheek.

 

“Fucking hell” he mumbles, and presses a kiss to her hair. The water is still warm and she’s so comfortable, so contented right now she thinks she could just stay there forever. They sit in silence for a few minutes until she feels her fingertips start to wrinkle and raises her head, pressing a chaste kiss to Quinn’s jaw. He looks down at her, eyes adoring, pupils still blown. He looks positively dopy, entirely undone, and she resolves to do this more often.

“You’re going to get all pruney” she says, unfolding herself, and he blinks, recovering his senses fractionally and hauling himself unsteadily to his feet. She supports him as they step out of the shower, and he pulls her in close again.

“I think you broke my brain” he mumbles, burying his face into her hair, “I can’t think straight.”

“Makes a nice change” she teases, wrapping herself in a towel, “Maybe I should do this more often.”

His cock twitches in interest at that and he grins wickedly at her.

“Goodness knows what sort of trouble you’re going to get me into” he breathes, pulling her close and unwrapping the towel with one hand, letting it fall to the ground as he grazes a thumb over her nipple. She arches her back and lets her breath out in a sigh as he lowers his mouth to her breast, and after that they don’t talk for a long while.

********

Later on they’re lying in bed, legs tangled, Carrie’s head resting on Quinn’s chest. He cards his fingers through her head idly, a half smile playing around his lips.

“I love you” he says, so quiet it’s barely audible, and she nuzzles into his side contentedly.

“I love you too” she replies, and there’s a calmness to her now that he still struggles to believe at times. The thought that a year ago either of them would have been able to share such a peaceful existence is unimaginable.

“Hey, Carrie?”

She makes a sleepy, sated noise and runs her fingers soothingly down his ribcage

“I’ve been thinking...”  
He pauses, uncertain suddenly, not knowing how to broach the topic.

“I want to ask you something, and it’s fine if you say no.”

She wakes up at that, propping herself up on an elbow to see his face properly.

“Go on...”

He mirrors her body language, reaching out a hand to brush her hair behind her ear. When she turns her face into his palm his heart clenches at the memory of the first time that happened, and what had followed, and his reserve solidifies.

“I want to be Frannie’s dad” he says, the words coming out in a rush, and when Carrie opens her mouth he talks over the top of her, “I’m the most significant male figure in her life and...God, Carrie, if anything happened to you or her I don’t want to be legally screwed. I want to protect both of you. You’re my family.”

She smiles, keeping hold of his palm.

“Was that what was worrying you?” she asks, somewhere between amused and exasperated, “You are her father in everything but DNA, Quinn. I think it’s a great idea, as long as you don’t feel tied down by it.”

He smiles, relieved, and then chews his lip. 

“There is something else” he admits, “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’m just gonna need you to hear me out.”

He hears her soft intake of breath as he slides out from the bed, pads around the room and kneels on the carpet in front of her side of the bed.

“Carrie, I’ve made so many fuck ups in my life. I’ve done awful things, and so much of it I would change if I could, but everything that we’ve gone through together I wouldn’t change for the world.”

He pauses, steadies himself, takes a breath.  
 “I love you, and I know you love me. I’m so fucking lucky that we came back to each other, babe. I’m so lucky you’re here. Now I don’t want to leave anything else to luck. I want to make a promise to spend the rest of my life with you, to protect you, to kill any fucker who tries to get between our family.”

The lump in his throat is at epic proportions now; Carrie holds his gaze with huge, wet eyes. Man up, he tells himself, get it out. He pulls the ring box from the drawer without breaking eye contact, flips the lid with a thumb.

“Carrie...will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Her lip wobbles and she has to swallow reflexively a couple of times before she can answer. Quinn is almost white with anxiety, but his hand on the box is steady. The ring is beautiful; an imperfect white gold band with a sparkling diamond. It’s perfect, she thinks. He’s perfect. They’re, somehow, perfect.  
“God, Peter” she breathes, and leans forward, catching his face in her hands, brushing his cheekbones with her thumbs, “Of course I will.”

He breathes out in a huff, tension leaving his body, and tilts forward so their foreheads touch.

“Thank you” he whispers, and she twists to press her lips against his, hard, desperate.

“Can I put it on?” he asks, and it takes her a moment to understand. As he slides the ring onto her finger she is overwhelmed with a sudden sense of being in exactly the right place at the right time, and downstairs the sound of the door clicking indicates the return of the rest of her family. 

Quinn touches her finger reverently, smiles at her as though he can’t quite believe it.

“Well, I guess we’d better go break the news” he says, and she kisses him again, a hint of tongue, an implicit promise. Hastily dressed, they descend the stairs, hand in hand like teenagers at prom night.

“Maggie, Frannie...we’ve got some news!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end :)
> 
>  
> 
> I may do a series of wedding-themed oneshots but I’m on the fence at the moment - still looking for inspiration so please do make suggestions
> 
> http://www.notonthehighstreet.com/jamesnewmanjewellery/product/fiori-palladium-and-diamond-ring?utm_source=linkshare&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_campaign=UKNetwork&utm_content=1&utm_term=je6NUbpObpQ
> 
> is the ring I'm imagining.


End file.
